


At least he's a civilized brute

by Ryxl



Series: Tariverse [4]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Argent Tournament, Gen, Verbal Sparring, getting along like a house on fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryxl/pseuds/Ryxl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While exploring the Argent Tournament grounds, Taretha has an unexpected encounter. World politics are about to get a lot more...interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Encounter

     “Excuse me, miss, but you’re being followed.”  
    I look behind me and see only Golthak and his men. “Yes, it appears I am,” I say dryly to the burly, scarred man in armor it doesn’t look like he could afford on his own.  
    “Are those orcs bothering you?”  
    Before I can reply, he snarls in very bad orcish, “ _You! Why you follow pretty lady? You not wanted_ ,” and he includes a very crude description.  
    “ _Warchief told us to_ ,” Golthak replies with a sneer.  
    The armored man takes a step forward and half-draws his sword.  
    “Zis hoo-man bothering you, Taretha?” Golthak asks in deliberately bad common, also taking a step forward and putting his hand to his axe. Behind the armored man, I can see four men in Alliance colors suddenly stiffen in preparation for a fight.  
    “I would appreciate it if you stopped antagonizing my escort, sir.”  
    He stops and looks at me in shock. “Your _escort_?”  
    “As Golthak said, the Warchief sent them to follow me for my protection.”  
    A runner comes up and bangs his chest in salute. “You are wanted in the pavilion, Taretha.”  
    I thank him and turn to the scarred man. “If you will excuse me…?”  
    “Oh, of course,” he responds automatically.  
    Golthak and his men follow as I sweep away, leaving behind the startled king of Stormwind.  
  
    **************************  
  
    Thrall smiles broadly as I enter. "Tari! What do you think of the Tournament grounds?"  
    I give him a hug and remove my cloak. "Tirion has something up his sleeve, and he wants as big an audience for it as possible. How did the meeting go?"  
    "Well enough, although I missed your presence." He sighs. "Garrosh is learning, but he's still more volatile than I'd like. What else did you learn in your excursion?"  
    It's my turn to smile, now. "I had an unexpected bit of luck. Expect the king of Stormwind to pay us a visit later."  
    Golthak grunts. "That who that was?"  
    "You didn't see his guards?"  
    "Saw them, figured he was some other high-up Alliance dog."  
    "Varian's retainers speak better orcish," I say dryly.  
    "Mmm. No blood was shed?" Thrall rumbles sternly. I shake my head. "Good."  
    I go on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "I'm going to go change in anticipation of our visitor."  
    Golthak starts to follow, my faithful shadow, but Thrall stops him with a look and he waves Nedrim after me instead.  
  
    **************************  
  
    The pavilion doesn't have anything that would make a good sitting room, so it is in the landscaped area behind the pavilion that I am casually biding my time. To give the illusion of privacy, hedges have been planted to form an organic wall that encircles the Horde pavilion. A similar circle of hedges across the grounds is where the Alliance representatives are housed, no doubt. It's not much of a garden, but given the terrain and the time involved, it's lovely. To human senses, we are alone - but I know Thrall would not let the brash king of Stormwind be alone with his sister. There will be a Shadow Hunter or two on the roof, and likely a druid or shaman listening in, as well.  
    It's not long before the crunch of footsteps heralds the approach of a visitor. He looks more regal now that he's not wearing armor; he's clearly taken the time to wash, put on formal clothes, and comb his hair. He still looks like a brute, but at least he's a clean and civilized brute.  
    "Taretha?" He has a rather pleasant voice when he's not trying to intimidate people. "Forgive me for calling on you without invitation. I wanted to apologize for earlier." He gives a formal bow. "Please allow me to introduce myself: Varian Wrynn of Stormwind, at your service."   
    I curtsy politely. "Taretha Foxton of the Frostwolf, late of Durnholde."  
    His eyebrows knit together. "You claim membership in an orc clan?"  
    "The Warchief is my brother." My chin raises just the slightest bit, daring him to contest it.  
    "Your brother? That green-skinned brute?"  
    "We were fed from the same breast; when he was brought to Durnholde Keep as a baby, my mother wet-nursed him. I saved his life by helping him escape Durnholde so that he could find his people. Then, when he came back to free the orcs in the camps, he took me with him and saved mine. The elders of the Frostwolf clan acknowledged the mutual debt and confirmed it through the ritual of blood-bonding."  
    Varian frowns. "I fail to see where lives were saved."  
    I look him straight in the eye. "If Thrall had stayed, Blackmoore would have gotten him killed by throwing him into fights until he couldn't win. Blackmoore knew I helped Thrall escape; if I hadn't left, he would have killed me." One shoulder rises and falls in a shrug. "So I left, and I've been with Thrall's Horde ever since."  
    "You could have gone to Southshore, or Pyrewood, or any other human city. Why stay with _orcs_?"  
    "I spent twenty-five years living with humans, my lord. At first, I was ignored for my gender. Later, the only recognition I got was for my body. Never was I given any credit for having a mind, nor respected for it." The slight flinch tells me that Varian is guilty of the same things, but at least feels guilt for it.  
    "No doubt the orcs only respect you because you are their Warchief's sister." He hesitates only slightly before those last words.  
    I shake my head, the two smaller braids at my temples swinging with the motion. "At first, all that got me was tolerated. I had to earn the respect on my own."  
    Clearly frustrated, Varian tries another angle. "Surely you miss your family."  
    "I do." I gaze off into the distance, the old pain throbbing in my chest. "Blackmoore killed them when he realized my betrayal."  
    Silence.   
    "I'm...sorry for your loss." The way his voice trembles tells me that he genuinely feels sorrow, and that he has suffered personal loss, as well.  
    "Thank you," I tell him distantly, and the silence changes.  
    "Do you...ever miss...male companionship?" Varian asks, then apparently thinks better of it. "That is...don't you want a husband?" He's not very good at being subtle.  
    "Why would I?"  
    That floors him. I watch in faint amusement as he realizes that I have no need for protection or support past what I already have by virtue of my brother.  
    "Surely there are...needs...that you are unable to fill, surrounded by orcs." Again, subtlety is not his forte. He hopes fervently that I have not taken an orc to my bed.  
    "Your Majesty," I begin crisply, and he seems somewhat startled either at my tone or the mode of address, "I was Blackmoore's unwilling mistress for seven years. I have endured the indignities of the bedroom long enough to last me my entire life."  
    He seems affronted by the rebuff, but then his face darkens with a surprisingly familiar rage.   
    "I won't ask what he did to you," he hisses between clenched teeth. "Clearly he was no gentleman, regardless of his military rank or breeding."  
    I have to admit, it is rather touching how furious Varian is on my behalf. "Have no fear, your Majesty, my brother was quite vigorous in avenging my virtue."  
    He nods and looks away, visibly reining his temper in. I turn away as well and wait for the silence to become less brittle.   
    "Thrall is - if you'll pardon the expression - a better man than either of us," I say quietly. Behind me, I can hear Varian turn around.  
    "What do you mean?"  
    "He was a slave to a cruel master for sixteen years, kept wholly underground for six of them. He was fed scraps and spoiled food. His bed was dirty straw, and his master beat him. Sixteen years, and he never experienced tenderness or affection, never had a friend aside from me. Sixteen years of being called a monster."  
    "...and?"  
    I turn to face him, my expression cool and distant. "And he doesn't hate humanity for it."  
    Varian struggles with his emotions, not meeting my eyes, unable to dispute the unspoken accusation, unwilling to argue with a woman, and most of all having no desire to reveal his unvoiced courtship by protesting my rejection of it. The silence stretches as he searches for some way to extricate himself with his dignity intact. Finally, he looks up at me again and that familiar rage smolders behind his eyes.  
    "I am not Blackmoore," he growls, clearly attempting to keep a civil tone and not quite managing it.   
    "Then prove it, your Majesty." While smoother, my tone is no less challenging.   
    He corrects me with a shake of his head. "Just 'Varian'."   
    I incline my head in acknowledgment. "Then prove it, Varian."  
    "I will, and I hope that someday I will change your mind."   
    "I warn you, it will take time and effort for that."  
    "I'm willing to wait as long as it takes." The look he gives me now smolders for a different reason. "By your leave, Taretha," he says with a formal bow. I nod, and he strides briskly off.  
  
    **************************  
  
    Golthak falls in step behind me as I enter the building. Whatever interrogation my brother put him through appears to have taken less time than it took me to puncture Varian's ego. My faithful shadow smoothly peels off as I enter Thrall's meeting room and takes his place with the Kor'kron guarding the door. Thrall looks up from his reports as I come in and drags me into a one-armed hug that nearly envelops me.  
    "What did the king of Stormwind want?"  
    I roll my eyes and sigh. "The usual. He didn't come out and say it, but he wants to whisk me off to a life of everything I don't want."  
    Thrall studies me with worried eyes. "Tari. I don't want you to feel you have to stay with me if you find someone you want to be with."  
    An un-ladylike sound escapes my lips. "I'm not about to rush off with a man who thinks that a few months of slavery entitle him to racial prejudice, that a woman needs a man, and that my little brother is a green-skinned brute."  
    Thrall smiles, and some of the concern leaves his face. "And if he changes his mind?" he teases.  
    "Even if he changes his mind, he still has to change mine."  
    The Kor'kron, Golthak, and Thrall all chuckle at that.   
    "Oh, Tari. You make diplomacy much more interesting," Thrall says, shaking his head. "I almost hope he does change his mind, just to see how far he's willing to go to win you over."  
    A broad grin threatens; I stifle it. "The question, dear brother, is where we would find a tailor to properly clothe you for the wedding."  
    At the look on Thrall's face, I break into peals of laughter. After a moment, he chuckles.  
    "We'd need to arrange a trade agreement for the cloth alone," he jokes.  
    "Oh, have it shipped to Theramore, Jaina could use the revenue from a fleet that large."  
    We joke about exaggerated amounts of wedding arrangements for a while before retiring for the night. The sheets are crisp and cool and unfamiliar sounds filter through the walls. As I wait for sleep, I can't help but wonder how far Varian _would_ go in his quest to win my heart.


	2. Engagement

Thrall pauses by the jousting practice area and turns as though watching the champions running drills. Garrosh comes to an impatient stop and stands there, fidgeting irritably. I take a position on Garrosh’s other side with Golthak looming protectively behind me while our assorted escorts arrange themselves and prepare to not-hear whatever my brother is about to say.

“Garrosh,” he says in a quiet growl, “I expect you to control yourself here. I do _not_ want a repeat of the Violet Citadel.” One hand on the haft of the Doomhammer lends emphasis to the point.

“That was a show of strength,” Garrosh replies sullenly.

He doesn’t actually believe Thrall would raise a weapon to the son of his honor-brother, but he doesn’t want to test that belief. He’s like an overgrown puppy yapping at the heels of a bigger dog – ironic, because he is actually a few years older than Thrall.

“I only regret that I did not kill that human before the mage interfered.”

“Not all problems can be solved with an axe,” I say tartly.

“An axe was good enough for my father,” he snaps back.

On Garrosh’s other side, I can see Thrall flinch.

“Grom did not survive his victory. I do not call that solving the problem, and I wish that he had not chosen that particular ‘solution’. He was a good friend and a good advisor when the bloodlust was not controlling him.” Thrall’s voice is low, tight with the pain of losing his second friend. After a steadying breath, he continues, “We are guests here, Garrosh, and you will conduct yourself _honorably.”_

“Pah. What honor is there in thrashing about with blunted sticks? This is a waste of time.”

The son of Hellscream crosses his arms and glowers, blustering for all he’s worth. I can see some of our escort peering at him out of the corners of their eyes, waiting for Thrall’s reaction. For a long minute, Thrall just draws himself up to his full height – a head taller than our brown-skinned loudmouth – and stares until Garrosh is forced to lower his eyes.

“Were you so gifted as a child that you never practiced with a wooden weapon?”

Garrosh shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot like a child being scolded. After another minute, Thrall abruptly turns and resumes his steady pace towards the entrance to the arena, where our host Highlord Fordring awaits us. In the general confusion of our escorts sorting themselves out, I slip up next to my brother.

“Tari,” he murmurs, “If Wrynn is there, I will have my hands full keeping Garrosh in line.”

“I’ll handle Varian,” I reply quietly before he can ask. His hand is too big for me to squeeze reassuringly, but I lay my hand on his wrist for a moment and then fall back to walk a step behind Garrosh.

As we approach the corner, a woman’s voice answers something that has just been said, and a few steps reveal that Tirion is not waiting alone.

“Ah, Warchief Thrall! …Overlord Garrosh,” he adds, nodding at the still-sullen son of Hellscream. “Welcome to the tournament. And who is this lovely lady?” Tirion smiles at me, but I can tell he did not expect me and does not like the position Thrall has put him in.

“Thank you for your invitation.” Thrall raps his fist sharply against his chest in an orcish salute, then bows slightly in the human style. “Lord Fordring, my sister: Taretha Foxton, late of Durnholde.”

I dip a respectful curtsy, and receive a gallant bow in return.

“Taretha was my liaison with Thrall’s Horde during the Battle of Mount Hyjal,” Jaina says before Tirion can form a diplomatic protest to my presence.

At her words, the reluctance vanishes from his expression like morning mist burned away by the light of the sun. “Welcome, Lady Foxton. I hope you will enjoy the show.”

“Indeed, we all look forward to observing these games,” Thrall says, but Garrosh snorts derisively.

Tirion casts a disapproving eye over the leader of the Mag’har. “I trust you will see the merit of these events in time, Garrosh. Speaking of time, our final guest should be here any minute.”

As though summoned, Varian strides around the corner in the same armor he wore the other day – only now, it has been cleaned and freshly oiled and is covered with a fine surcoat bearing the Alliance lion in gold thread. His escort eyes ours warily while ours stand at rigid attention, determined not to dishonor their Warchief. Or, more likely, unwilling to be called out for a private sparring match should they act in any way Thrall deems less than honorable. Varian’s lip curls as his eyes pass over Garrosh and my brother on their way to our host.

“Tirion,” he says with a nod of acknowledgement, then notices who else is present. “Jaina, why are you here?”

Well, if _that_ isn’t a tone I’d heard one too many times coming from the late,  unlamented lord of Durnholde Keep. Jaina’s eyes flash and she opens her mouth to reply, but another beats her to it.

“I invited her, _King_ Varian,” Tirion says sharply, the mocking emphasis a subtle reminder that on this ground, no one outranks the Highlord of the Argent Crusade.

“Lady Proudmoore, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Thrall says smoothly, giving her a bow to match the one Tirion gave me.

“Warchief Thrall, the pleasure is all mine.” Jaina holds out her hand and Thrall takes it delicately, brushes his lips against the back, and straightens with it still perched on his.

“Well then, if you’ll all follow me?” Tirion turns and leads the way to the gates of the arena, not bothering to wait for a response.

“Lady Proudmoore, may I escort you to your seat?” Thrall manages to keep a straight face, but Jaina’s eyes are dancing.

“I would be honored, Warchief Thrall.”

“The honor is all mine, Lady Proudmoore,” my brother says as he leads Jaina after our host.

Garrosh scowls and stalks after them while Varian glares holes in his brown back. I can’t help but smile; you’d never know, watching their careful formality, that there were more than a few late-night strategy sessions that went on far into the night after the generals had all left. Beside me, Varian has finally noticed me now that I am not hidden behind walls of orcish flesh.

“Taretha…”

He sounds like a child that got caught sneaking sweets before dinner. I raise one eyebrow and wait to see if he continues with ‘…I can explain!’.  Instead, he straightens his posture and puts on his best face. The scars prevent it from looking much better, but at least he’s trying.

“What an unexpected pleasure,” he says, and he sounds like he actually means it. “May I have the honor of escorting you?”

One armored arm is presented gallantly. I suppose he realized from my expression that I wasn’t going to offer him my hand.

“You may,” I tell him coolly, my fingertips just barely resting on his arm. I can almost feel Golthak’s amusement as he follows us up to the gate.

Tirion is waiting for us at the gate, but there is no sign of Garrosh, Jaina, or my brother and their assorted escorts.

“The Lady Proudmoore asked me to tell you that she’s switching places with you,” he says, giving me a cautiously suspicious look. “She said you wouldn’t mind.”

"I don't mind at all," I say, but I am verbally trampled.

"What? Why is she sitting with that-" Varian breaks off and looks at me as though remembering my presence.

Tirion clears his throat, breaking the awkward silence. "Shall I show you to your seats, then?"

"That would be most gracious of you, Lord Fordring." I give him a charming smile and dip a small curtsy, and he nods back. 

Varian is silent while we are led through narrow wooden stairwells and hallways to a viewing box directly across the arena from what I can only assume is the Horde viewing box, to judge by the red-and-black banners. Tirion gives us a brisk nod and leaves, presumably for the viewing box draped with the Argent Crusade banner. The Alliance guards arrange themselves two inside, two outside, and many uncertain glances are thrown around as Golthak calmly takes his usual place against the wall next to them.

"Why is he here?"

Golthak returns Varian's glare impassively. "I go where Taretha goes."

"You think I'm going to let you stand behind me? How do I know you're not here to assassinate me?"

My expression chills further, but Golthak smiles. "Would be stupid to try. Your guards would kill me."

"I'm sure that wouldn't bother a twisted monster like you, as long as you managed to take me down first." He's got his scarred face right up in Golthak's now.

"Not here to kill you," my escort grunts. "Here to protect Taretha."

"You expect me to believe that?" The king of Stormwind is practically growling now. "Why should I believe that you're so devoted to a human?"

Golthak looks angry now. The inside guards seem uncomfortable with the exchange, while the outside guards are peering surreptitiously around the doorframe. As much as I don't mind letting Jaina and Thrall have some time together, I'm regretting the decision to take her place in the Alliance box.

"Before we came to your world," Golthak says in a slow, menacing voice, "the warlocks changed us with their dark power. Took what they wanted. One of them took my sister. I was just a pup, couldn't protect her. She killed herself to escape him. When I got bigger, I killed him, but it didn't bring her back." He jerks his chin in my direction and Varian backs up a step to avoid the motion of his tusks. "Warchief asked for one to guard her when we took Durnholde. She had the same look my sister had before she died. I swore on my sister's spirit that I would die before I let any harm come to Taretha."

Clearly startled by this, Varian tosses a glance my way and I raise my chin slightly, daring him to object. I can almost see his hackles lowering. With a visible shift, he straightens and gives my faithful shadow a crisp nod, then turns to me as though nothing has happened. My displeasure hits him like a physical blow, to judge by how he winces - but if it is a blow, then his martial training lets him take it in stoic silence. Before he can recover, I seat myself in silent rebuke. After a moment, he takes the other seat.

Across the arena, I can see Jaina lean over and say something to Thrall, who laughs while Garrosh looks torn between amusement and anger. Tirion glances back and forth between the two viewing boxes, then turns to an older orc in Argent colors that I recognize after a moment as Eitrigg. A quiet comment, and Tirion steps forward to begin the opening ceremony.

"You shouldn't have had to see that," Varian says under the cover of Argent trumpets announcing the first combatants.

"Because I shouldn't have been here, or because you shouldn't have said it?" I ask tartly.

He flinches again, but does not answer for several minutes.

"I'm not making a very good impression, am I?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him staring rigidly ahead.

"If I wanted to witness acts of unwarranted aggression, I would have stayed with Blackmoore."

"Harshly said, my lady."

"Have you been a better example, _my lord_?" His attempt at lighthearted banter is neatly skewered upon the point of my scathing disdain.

He winces. "I deserved that."

In silence, we watch the first few matches. When the voice of a human woman rings out to congratulate the Horde combatants, Varian’s eyebrows go up.

“I didn’t realize Jaina spoke orcish.”

“Not a lot,” I say offhandedly, “but her accent’s better than yours.”

He glowers. “I apologize if my accent insults your delicate ears, _my lady_. I did not have the luxury of learning in more formal surroundings. Instead, I was forced to learn-“

“-in the gladiator ring. Yes, I know. _My lord._ ” I steal a glance at him out of the corner of my eyes. “Thrall dismantled them, you know.”

“Too little, too late,” he says bitterly.

“You certainly think rather highly of yourself, don’t you?” I ask archly.

Varian fights to keep from scowling at me. “What makes you say that?”

“He didn’t do it for you. He did it because he hates slavery.”

“What would _he_ know about slavery? He was never in the camps.”

The casual dismissal makes me so angry that my blood turns to ice. “You really don’t know anything about him, do you, _my lord?”_ I want to pierce him with my frosty gaze, but I keep my eyes locked onto the Horde banners across the way.

“So enlighten me, _my lady_.” The growl is more fitting of the gladiator called Lo’gosh than the king of Stormwind.

“Forgive me for thinking you were actually listening to me the other day.” My hands are white-knuckled fists in my lap. “I won’t make the same mistake again. My lord.”

“I really wish you would stop saying that like it’s an insult.”

“Then maybe you should act in such a way that when applied to you, it wouldn’t be.”

The sound Varian utters is pure primal frustration, but he takes a breath and forcibly calms himself. “I beg your forgiveness.” Each word is ground out past clenched teeth. “Clearly, I was too dazzled by your beauty and the sound of your melodic voice. I pray you, correct my ignorance.”

“Very prettily said, but flattery will get you nowhere.” I can see his scarred face twitch at my sharp tone. “Blackmoore raised him as a slave. You had loving parents; Thrall had a cruel master. You had a childhood; Thrall had an underground cell. You had a bed and toys; Thrall had straw and stone. You lost your freedom for more than half a year; Thrall lost it for more than half of his life.”

He is silent for long enough that I know he is not going to say anything.

“You have a name,” I say quietly.

“I _had_ all of those things,” he replies with an equally firm tone. “The Horde took them all from me.”

“Except your name.”

Varian shifts uncomfortably. “Yes.”

“And yet, you managed to rebuild your home.” He nods stiffly. “Why, then, do you object to the Horde doing the same? Especially when we did _not_ take the rich farmland we were slaves on for so long.”

He opens his mouth to object to that use of ‘we’, but my withering glare makes the words die in his throat. A few seconds longer and the temper dies, as well. At least he remembers that I, too, suffered a lack of freedom under Blackmoore’s hand. His mouth closes with a snap and he stares down at the latest combatants, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“Will you bite my head off if I change the subject to something more pleasant?” he asks dryly. “Say, the upcoming battle to preserve life as we know it in the face of the Scourge threat?”

My retort dies on my lips as he gives me a look that can only be called _pleading_.

“Please, my lady, be merciful in your victory.”

There is no hostility in his words. Were I to press the attack, I would be no better than he. A miniscule nod, and he smiles with relief and genuine warmth. The change leaves me feeling unbalanced.

“I have already seen the power of Taretha Foxton the weapon of diplomacy,” he says casually, throwing me a smile that would be more charming if there were fewer scars on his face. “What I would love to hear about is Taretha Foxton the woman. What activities do you enjoy? Aside from verbally flaying bullheaded kings, I mean.”

The easy smile, even marred as it is, startles me with its charm. I can see why his people love him if this is the side of himself that he shows them.

“I just ‘verbally flayed’ you, and you want to get to know me?”

My disbelief makes him shrug. “I’m intrigued by you.” He flushes slightly. “It’s not often that an attractive woman tells me off.”

If anything, my expression growing chillier only makes his smile warmer.

“You’re crazy.”

Varian laughs at my flat declaration. It’s a very nice laugh, warm and rich. I feel my face redden.

“I’m a warrior, my lady, and a cunning strategist. And you – you are the most exciting opponent to enter this field of combat with me in a long, long time. Do you play Hawks and Hares?”

“I do.”

“Would you grace the Alliance pavilion with your presence tomorrow for a match with me? Say, for lunch?”

“Absolutely not.”

He actually looks disappointed. “Why?”

I favor him with a cool look. “What kind of opponent would give a cunning strategist the opportunity to take her measure between battles?”

“Well said, my lady. Would you care to suggest a time and place for our next battle, then?”

“I am no warrior, my lord, to so eagerly seek out combat.”

My rebuke drives the pleasure from his face, leaving him serious and almost….sad?

“Please, Taretha. How can I prove myself to you if you don’t give me a chance to do it?”

I almost tell him that the burden falls on him, that I don’t care if he ever convinces me of that, but his eyes beg me to relent.

“If you can free your schedule, I will allow you call on me in the first hour past sunrise.”

“An early bird?” The lift of his eyebrows conveys surprise where his tone does not.

“Blackmoore was in the habit of sleeping in, particularly after drinking to excess. I got in the habit of rising with the sun.”

The unsubtle reminder is a poisoned dart that hits its mark; the warrior-king’s good humor sickens and dies.

“When I do sleep in,” he says as though challenging Blackmoore’s ghost to single combat, “it is a conscious decision made after I wake at first light. I will see you an hour past dawn, my lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the novels, it's mentioned that the warlocks artificially aged some children - this is what Saurfang refers to before the fourth boss fight in Icecrown Citadel. Golthak was one of those children; he went from six to twenty in several agonizing minutes and never quite felt like he fit in with the actual adult warriors.


	3. Interlude

“Looks like you and Varian hit it off,” Jaina teases as we stroll around the landscaped area outside the Alliance pavilion. “I was watching you two; you couldn’t keep your eyes off of each other.”

“He’s a brute. We were fighting.”

The sorceress laughs. “I wish I could have heard it. Did you leave him _any_ dignity?”

A small smile plays about my lips. “A few crumbs.”

“Oh, that’s not like you, Taretha! Don’t tell me you’re sweet on him.”

“Jaina!”

She laughs as I give her a playful shove. “Tell me you at least stabbed him with some common sense.”

 “Ancestors know I tried. I think I got through to him on the slavery thing.”

We come to a sort of bench made from the live trunk of a pine tree, bent nearly horizontal before it sweeps up again, and sit with a swirl of skirts.

“Which choice phrases did you use on him?”

“Oh, I just pointed out a few things.” My grin is slightly mischievous. “I got him with the name thing, though. I think that’s what did it.”

“And you’re sure it penetrated that thick skull of his?”

“He asked me to be merciful in my victory,” I answer dryly.

“Did you manage to disillusion him completely?”

I sigh. “Somehow, he’s still interested. He’ll be calling on me an hour past dawn if you want to…” A finger-waggle conveys nothing to an observer, but Jaina knows what I mean.

“You’re such a good friend, Tari, sacrificing yourself like this.” She gives me a one-armed hug.

“Hey, at least someone gets to enjoy themselves,” I grin.

“This is two I owe you now.”

“Oh, you know I won’t call you on that. Think nothing of it.” One hand gestures dismissively. “I’ll just keep track of how many you owe me and then cash them in for your oath.”

 “Tari! Are you trying to give him…oh, I just imagined the look on his face!” Jaina dissolves into giggles.

“Well, you know how hard it is to find the perfect Winter’s Veil gift for him…” my deadpan expression is eroding quickly.

“No, no, not him – Varian!”

All composure evaporates at imagining the king of Stormwind hearing that Theramore has joined the Horde, and the two of us lean against each other, laughing helplessly.

“I heard my name,” a deep voice interjects. “If I’m the butt of a joke this funny, I’d like to hear it.”

The interruption only drives us to laughing even harder. Before tears of mirth blur my vision, I see Varian standing, arms crossed, fighting back a smile. Jaina flushes and hides her face in my shoulder, still laughing. By the time the last chuckles dribble out of us and we wipe our eyes, he has given up and we are alone again.

  
    **************************  
  
The tolling of the first hour after sunrise finds me seated in the entry hall of the pavilion, casually nibbling sliced fruit, when the door opens to admit the king of Stormwind. Even without the armor, his silhouette is impressive and, thankfully, too bulky to be mistaken for Blackmoore. His hair, normally so unruly even tied back, is damp enough that it lays quietly against his head and looks almost black. Fortunately, he has also taken the time to shave and the jutting expanse of his chin is bare. I don’t think I could have looked at him so calmly if his chin had been smaller, or sported any kind of beard. As it is, the hopeful expression flickers out, to be replaced by doubt and worry.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks uneasily. When I direct my gaze to the fruit left on my plate, he sinks to one knee before me and reaches out as though to touch my hand, but thinks better of it. “Hey. I couldn’t possibly have done something wrong yet; I just got here.” The next words are quiet and uncertain. “…did I?”

I take a deep breath and force myself to meet his eyes, only to run straight into that curiously vulnerable pleading look from yesterday. “No. It wasn’t you.”

“Then what-” He breaks off. “I won’t intrude. Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

At my brisk tone, he stands up and offers me his hand. I ignore it as I rise from the bench and he turns it into a gesture towards the door.

“Morning stroll, my lady?” Somehow, Varian reaches the door far enough ahead of me to open it before I can, and he holds it open as I pass through.

"Thank you, my lord."

Although the words are impersonally polite, he smiles as though he has been redeemed from his imagined fault. His four guards and Golthak shuffle themselves into an agreeable configuration.

"Any problems?" I ask in orcish, and he grins.

"None, Taretha. They know why I'm here."

"Me have little sister," one of them says in orcish that, if anything, is worse than his king's. "She die sick. Burn-" Brown eyes blink behind the steel visor. "Why am I-? You speak common. I had a little sister, lady. Plague got her and we burned her body so she wouldn't come back. None of us have a problem with him." The other three guards make sympathetic noises and nod. "In fact...it's kind of reassuring, knowing that orcs love their sisters, too."

He glances nervously at his king, but Varian is studiously inspecting the clouds. Apparently, conversing with the guard is something kings don't do. Or perhaps he's remembering how badly he behaved yesterday. Regardless, I thank the guard warmly and he and his fellows straighten to attention.

Varian offers me his arm, and I stare at it for a long minute, but he does not withdraw it. When I meet his eyes, they are resolute without being challenging.

"I would be remiss in my duty as a gentleman if I did not offer my arm to the lady whose company I am in."

My smile could cut glass. "I'm not a lady." I can see him start to leap to my defense, but cut him off before he can find the right words to express himself. "I'm common-born, my lord. 'Good enough to bed, not good enough to wed' as the saying goes."

"I must sincerely disagree with that assessment, _my lady_ ," he says with remarkable calmness considering the rage that darkens his face. "Clearly, you are far more a lady than he was a gentleman, regardless of your respective stations. And short of behaving in an undeniably crude manner, you will not convince me otherwise."

"You flatter me, my lord."

His scarred face stretches in a grim smile at my dry tone. "Truth is never flattery, my lady."

"Well said, my lord."

A slight inclination of my head indicates that this round goes to him, and his face clears significantly when my fingertips just barely touch the firm bulk of his arm. In the cool morning air, the warmth of his body easily penetrates the satin sleeve. So, not only does the king of Stormwind rise with the sun, but he engages in weapons practice and takes the time to wash, even when meeting with a woman upon whom he wishes to make a favorable impression. All points in his favor, but only pebbles in the chasm he must fill if he wishes to win my heart.


	4. Extrication

"Pink-skinned pig."

"Monster."

"I'm going to crush you."

"I'm going to hang your ugly head on my wall."

"You're no prettier, human."

Jaina and I exchange mutually horrified and resigned glances, and start elbowing our way through the crowd. Over the heads of the spectators, I can see my brother approaching from the direction of the Argent pavilion, and he does not look happy at all. I redouble my efforts, leaving the more gently-born ruler of Theramore behind, and break into the opening at the center just as Thrall shoulders the last onlookers aside. The two combatants - luckily, unarmed - are locked in a fierce embrace. Muscles strain on both sides, but they seem to be evenly matched.

"Garrosh!"

"Varian!"

Behind me, Jaina worms her way out of the crowd while Tirion steps out from behind my brother. The leader of the Warsong hesitates briefly at Thrall's bark but does not divert his attention from his opponent. The king of Stormwind, on the other hand, loses all concentration as I crack his name like a whip. Garrosh bellows triumphantly and hurls him against the hard-packed earth. Before he can follow up on this advantage, a very sharp and very bright sword blade is thrust between the two.

"Under my roof, _gentlemen,_ you _will_ behave."

Seeing the legendary Ashbringer just above him is enough to bring Varian to his senses, but it takes Thrall's not-so-subtle hefting of the Doomhammer to make Garrosh back off. Warily, the brash king climbs to his feet and a sharp motion of the Tirion’s sword encourages him to put more distance between himself and the son of Hellscream.

"We are here to fight the Scourge," Tirion says, voice slicing the air, "not each other. If you want to fight like a pair of starving dogs, you will do it elsewhere." He pauses to rake both men with scathing disdain. "Now, if you don't mind, the _adults_ were talking."

The Highlord of the Argent Crusade stalks off in the direction he came, crowd parting before him.

"Garrosh."

Sullenly, the Mag'har slinks after Thrall as he follows Tirion, leaving the former gladiator to face my wrath alone. My glare spears each word as he opens his mouth to say it, leaving him silent and fidgeting like a naughty child while I stand with my arms crossed just as my mother used to. Jaina gestures, and the world blurs out and re-forms into what must be the common room of their quarters in the Alliance pavilion. Varian starts briefly, giving the sorceress an indignant look, but she ignores him and the door to her room slams behind her Slightly panicked now, he turns back to me, but my stony gaze strikes him hard enough that he winces.

"Taretha, I can-"

"You can what?" Again, he flinches as my voice cracks like a whip. "Explain? Explain how the king of Stormwind came to be grappling with an orc in public like a pair of _children?_ " For _shame_ , my lord. Have a handful of months undone years of civilized upbringing? Were you trained as a gladiator, _my lord_ , or as a wild beast to be prodded at with sticks to make it fight another dumb animal in a pit?"

I pause for breath and to give him a chance to speak, but he only cringes and evades my eyes.

"You wanted to prove to me that you are not the same as Blackmoore? Oh, you have _succeeded_ , my lord. Blackmoore would _never_ have let an orc goad him into public brawling by sneering petty insults."

"But he said-"

"Said what? That you were a baby? A pig? That you looked like a monkey and smelled like one, too? That your smile gave children nightmares?"

That last comment apparently stings his pride enough to shake him out of his pit of humiliation. "Do you really think I’m that ugly when I smile?"

"Well, you won't be winning beauty pageants any time soon."

His face falls. "Why didn't you _tell_ me that my smile was ugly?"

Arms still crossed, I raise one eyebrow. "Because that's what Blackmoore did to Thrall."

Wordlessly, he sinks into a chair and buries his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. I do not move and for a few minutes, there is silence.

"Well, I've certainly made a disgrace of myself this week," he says heavily, letting his hands drop at last. "I'm surprised you're still here; I would have left me to stew in my own juices. So..." Almost fearfully, he searches my face. "Is there anything I can do to redeem myself in your eyes?"

"No."

He gapes at me as though I'd slapped him. "No? Have you already passed judgment on me, then?"

I favor him with a cool look. "We leave at first light to return to Dalaran, where the Kirin Tor will be providing us magical passage back to Orgrimmar. If you had any plans, my lord, you have until dawn to put them in action."

He looks surprisingly horrified as I sweep out of the room. As I suspected, the layout of the Alliance and Horde pavilions are the same and within a minute I am at the door staring at Golthak's relieved face.

"Good, guessed right," he grunts.

In silence, we cross the tournament grounds. Only when we enter the private living area in the Horde pavilion does he speak up again.

"Thought you should know. Word on the grounds is that the king is in love with you. Especially after that demonstration."

I groan and rub my temples. "What are the Alliance saying about it?"

"They either think it's a good idea, or that you're somehow controlling his mind to topple Stormwind where the black dragon failed. Mostly that it's a good idea. They seem to think he needs a keeper." The smile that splits his face is faintly malicious.

"And the Horde?"

"Some are afraid he's controlling _your_ mind somehow, but after you jerked his leash like that, I heard quiet betting on whether there would be a wedding, or a funeral."

"Am I the only one who _doesn't_ want to see him court me?"

Jaina steps out of my room. "Looks like it, Tari."

"Blessed ancestors, what did I do to deserve this?"

Golthak and Jaina pat my shoulders, grinning.

"Okay," I sigh. "What did he say after I left?"

"Nothing. He did punch a wall, though."

"How manly."

"For what it's worth..." Jaina bites her lip, then breaks into a broad grin. "I've got five gold on him trying something before midnight."

Golthak laughs. "I'll put ten on past midnight but before dawn."  
  
    **************************

_Orgrim's Hammer_ arrives in the fifth hour of the day, just as false dawn provides  enough light to see. I stay out of the way as the crew swarm over the ship and pavilion, unpacking supplies and loading the possessions of the ones who were leaving. The night has been quiet, both before and after midnight, and despite myself I find that I keep scanning the dim grounds, searching for Varian's scarred face. The failed aspirants and wounded valiants file aboard, the last supplies are unloaded, and finally it is just Thrall, Garrosh, myself, and our escorts. The son of Hellscream wastes no time stomping aboard.

"Time to go, Tari," my brother rumbles, and we begin moving towards the gangplank as the first sliver of gleaming sun crests the horizon.

"Wait!"

I turn at the cry, and there's Varian, running for all he's worth. How he slipped the eye of his Royal Guards is a mystery.

"Taretha, wait!"

Thrall raises one eyebrow inquisitively at me as the brash king of Stormwind skids to a stop and pants heavily, holding his side.

"You owe me ten gold," I murmur to Golthak, who grunts sourly.

“Your Majesty, we have little time to chat.”

“A moment is all I need, Warchief,” Varian pants, distracted. “Taretha. I beg you. Don’t pass your judgment yet.”

The hand that had been curled up and pressed against his side is presented and opened to reveal a carved wooden figurine. It is a hawk, from a Hawks and Hares set, a piece that is often considered the weakest and underestimated, only to dismay opponents with its ferocity when used correctly. When I give him a questioning look, he presents his other hand and opens it to reveal another carved wooden figure, this one a hare. Normally a very strong piece, it is vulnerable to the ferocity of the hawk. At his insistent gesture, I take both pieces.

“You may not think of yourself as a warrior, but you do not shy from combat.” The scars on his face crease oddly as he gives me a mysterious smile. “I look forward to many more battles with you. Safe journey, my lady.”

“I told you, I’m not-“

“Of course,” he interrupts. “I haven’t forgotten. But until such time as those words are truth, I will continue to flatter you.”

Unsure as to what to make of this, I incline my head politely and he bows deeply to both myself and Thrall, then turns and begins walking back through the tournament grounds.

I follow my brother aboard the flying ship, hawk and hare warm in my hands from the heat of his, and for a moment I wish I had taken Varian up on the offer of playing a match.

**Author's Note:**

> I dabble in astrology, more Western than Eastern, and I like to assign my characters a sign from each zodiac to help me get a feel for them. For Azerothian characters, I handwave that the two signs represent where each of the two moons were when their light fell on a child for the first time. If you're familiar with the signs, you know just how doomed Varian is: he's an Aries Dragon, and Taretha a Virgo Rat. Together, they get along like a house on fire - lots of screaming and property damage.


End file.
